


Puella Magica Russia: Holy Political Quintet

by Goddess_Under_The_Cupboard



Category: Political RPF, Political RPF - Russian 21st c.
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-05-21
Updated: 2017-05-21
Packaged: 2018-11-03 08:34:50
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 2
Words: 3,461
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10963575
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Goddess_Under_The_Cupboard/pseuds/Goddess_Under_The_Cupboard
Summary: The devil comes to Moscow as an adorable cat-like creature with soulless red eyes. The incubators decided to fulfill the promises of old men desperate to live, to obtain power or to stop an impending revolution. Will they save the world from entropy or will it ruin their ranks instead? A Russian politics parody of Puella Magica Madoka.





	1. Preview (Тоска)

**Author's Note:**

> A/N: I am posting this little preview of my Puella Magica Madoka parody, I am currently re-writing it because I realised that it would be hard for me to have multiple point of views in one chapter. I do not know where this is going but enjoy. This is a preview of Act Three of Puella Magica Russia: Show Me Your Madness That You Keep In: The Tale of Vladislav Surkov. I might post the third act first since Surkov has a lot of material than the rest of the magical girls [old men]
> 
> Vladimir Nabokov: 
> 
> “No single word in English renders all the shades of toska. At its deepest and most painful, it is a sensation of great spiritual anguish, often without any specific cause. At less morbid levels it is a dull ache of the soul, a longing with nothing to long for, a sick pining, a vague restlessness, mental throes, yearning. In particular cases it may be the desire for somebody of something specific, nostalgia, love-sickness. At the lowest level it grades into ennui, boredom.” 
> 
> Comments from http://betterthanenglish.com/toska-russian/ :
> 
> 1\. “Toska” has been narrowed, essentially, to convey the confusion and grief associated with not knowing whether a loved one will come back from an internment camp.
> 
> 2\. It refers to the feeling of being deprived of something you need but cannot have, and specifically the numbing effect the associated melancholy imposes on daily life.

The sky seems to be mourning along with him; this day has been filled with torrential rains. The rain drops were masking his tears as the memories of what he had done assaulted his mind. He has to do it. After all, it was his wish to save the citizens from harm, wasn’t it? Dima’s witch form would have wiped out their country from the map and he was protecting the Russia that they love.

He was the one who dropped the prime minister’s body in the Moskva River and manipulated the CCTV cameras around it that in his moment’s of distress due to the dismissal of his government; Dmitry Anatolyevich committed suicide. How could they give an explanation that the Presidential Aide killed the premier because he only stopped his soul from rampaging and scattering his grief?

He’s justifying the murder that he has committed; he was convincing himself that Dima would have wanted that fate. The smile on the prime minister’s corpse was a self-deprecating one and he has failed terribly on the wish that he had traded his soul for. What kept him going? Why not follow the same path and become a witch too?

 _‘_ _I am sure; Dmitry Anatolyevich wouldn_ _’_ _t have wanted you to suffer the same fate._ _’_ A voice whispered in his mind and an empty laugh echoed through the Red Square.

They had promised to hang-out in the spires of St Basil’s Cathedral. Here he was, clutching the evidence of his crime, limply, as if the appendage could feel the denial that resonated in his mind and heart. Warmth was spreading through his numb hand as if telling him that what he did was right and he need not to worry.

Resentment was flowing in his veins; who’s to blame for this tragedy? His eyes wandered towards the brightly lit Presidential Palace and hatred mixed with the resentment in his veins. He went down on his spot and started his trek towards the building.

_It’s time to make the old sphinx pay for his crimes._

**／人◕** **‿‿** **◕人＼** ****

The presidential guards halted his movements; he was creating a small puddle on the carpeted floor as rain water continued to drip down from his clothes. The guards were wary of his menacing aura, they were probably wondering if he was a mad man who had the nerve to dash inside the Kremlin in such a state. He does not care about his appearance; he only wanted to see the man who took everything from him.

“I apologize, Vladislav Yurevich but I cannot let you through.” Dmitry Peskov told him and the man looked at him in distaste.

“Let me in. The president and I have business to tend to.” He snarled and the press secretary went to his intercom to speak to their boss. The man told the guards to let him through and he stomped his way towards the office.

The press secretary opened the door for him and the sight that greeted him was the president sitting at the chair calmly, signing documents and never acknowledging that he was there. The door was silently closed at his back as if it was an ominous sign, an anti-climatic end to his plans to avenge Dmitry Anatolyevich.

“I told you that your decision will have dire consequences on him. Between us, the true killer is you and not I, Vladimir Vladimirovich.” He spat out and the president continued on what he was doing, never giving him a single glance since he went inside the room.

His blood was boiling as the man went on with his silent treatment. He strode towards the desk and slammed his hands on it. Cold, blue eyes stared at his manic brown ones; he was straining himself to not strangle the man. The president’s lips curled into a smirk.

“Whose hand was laden with his blood? Who is the one that carries that grief seed that came from that witch?”

The statement got into his nerves. He was close to snapping and Vladimir Vladimirovich seems to have the upper hand on him. This was the president’s forte, manipulating a person and subjugating them to his will. He also played similar games and why would he let himself be affected by the man’s words.

“I did what was right; Dima would have wanted the same thing. He sacrificed his life for you! His wish was the reason why this country was barely turning into ruins.”

 _‘How can you be certain that’s what your beloved bear wanted?’_ his mind whispered to him. It’s in Dima’s nature, wasn’t it? To continue serving those people who never cared for him even if his very life was at stake.

“I have no use for him. After all, he was one of the reasons why our country is falling apart.” said Vladimir Vladimirovich. The icy gaze was devoid of any emotions and the president went back to his task before he was interrupted by his presidential aide.

The anger that he was reigning burst forth and in a nick of time; he transformed in his magical girl outfit and sliced the desk in half. The president vanished from his chair and he heard a gunshot behind him. He was forced to kneel into the floor due to his shattered knee. He could hear the man’s footsteps, a hand grabbed a fistful of his hair and suddenly his face was tilted upwards to look at the president. The blue eyes were glinting in cruelty; the man was relishing in his pain.

“I think that you do understand the reason why he’s not allowed to exist. It is his punishment for latching into your company.” The hold on his hair tightened and he was willing himself not to wince.

“B-bastard.” He stammered and the president gave out a cold laugh, the sound was grating his ears. If he were not injured, he’ll stab the old man’s soul gem so that he won’t be able to hear that laugh again.

“With my abilities, I am capable to save him. However, as long as you are breathing, I will never save him. I wanted to see you suffer until you give in to my request.” Vladimir Vladimirovich released his presidential aide and gave him a hard kick on the back.

Vladislav Yurevich turned around and gave the man a weak smile. He knows that what he was about to say would terribly pissed the old bastard off.

“No matter how hard you try, he will never be yours. I will be there to steal him once again from you.”

An unknown emotion flashed through the icy gaze, the president summoned a dozen of AK 47s and commanded it to tear his body apart. The man was purposefully avoiding his soul gem. Suffering? The pain of the bullets piercing his skin could never match the searing guilt in his heart.

**_“If you lose all of your blood or tore your body to shreds, it could easily be healed by magic. Let’s say that we are god-like but you should take extra care that your soul gem does not break because it houses your souls, if it breaks…you’ll die.”_ ** _Arkady Dvorkovich said as he explained to them what their soul gems are. Their soul was in this egg shape container and in a sense they were soulless beings?_

_Why do we even place such a high value on a 21-grams thing that may or may not exist? Was it because that we were conditioned to think that it would live on as our physical bodies expire? Why was he thinking such things when he has to focus his mind on the current discussion at hand?_  
  
His mind was churning out too much questions. He’ll probably try to find the answers to the rest of it later but for now…he had to ask something related to the topic.

**_“What happens if our body was beyond repair by our magic even though our soul gem does not break?”_ ** _He asked the deputy prime minister shrewdly._

**_“The cat told me that it would be replaced. They will materialize another body once your current one is destroyed; as long as your soul gem will not break.”_ **

His eyes were drooping slowly as the dull pain lulled him to sleep. The AK 47s seize firing and he could feel that he was whisked away from Vladimir Vladimirovich’s office.


	2. Paved with Good Intentions (2nd Preview)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A/N: A preview in Act 1: A Godforsaken Path: The Tale of Dmitry Anatolyevich Medvedev.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Inspiration:
> 
> Hero by Regina Spektor (https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=IoEKxjcF8s8)   
> Flavour of Life by Utada Hikaru (https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=3Ta0vEnki9E)   
> Snowfield (Piano Cover) by Lucas King (https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=DzP31w7ZMWM)

／人◕ ‿‿ ◕人＼

The Putin and the Bear show have finally come to its last act. A soft smile graced his lips as he looked at his colleagues; their dejected faces reflected what he truly felt within. The meeting room that was usually filled with banter held a solemn atmosphere. He took a deep breath and widened his smile to lift their spirits but his smile failed to brighten up the mood; the news that he was going to say was not a pleasant one.

“The State Duma expressed a no-confidence vote on our government and the president has decided to dismiss us. I convey my deepest gratitude for the eight years of cooperation that we had. We did our best to serve our country and I am honoured that the finest men and women in all of Russia became my colleagues. Ladies and gentlemen, let us fulfil our duties with vigour on our last day in serving our motherland. Meeting adjourned.”

His little speech was useless; his colleagues were leaving the meeting room with morose firmly fixed on their faces. He begged Vladimir Vladimirovich to reconsider, to give them a chance to rectify their mistakes. His friend decided to pull a Yeltsin trick on him, sacrificing him and the ministers to mask his inadequacies.

The door of the meeting room closed with a bang…as if it was a gavel signalling that the trial was over and the public deemed him guilty as a failure to his country. He knew deep down that he was; he wasn’t denying it. He was deluding himself that he was truly making a change when he does not have the power to do so.

“I should be happy this is what I wanted all along, after all these years it was granted and yet...I-I am utterly lost.” He whispered and tears started to flow out of his dark blue eyes. Resentment wrapped itself around his heart; a heavy burning chain that squeezes the helpless organ in his chest.   
  
He slumped forward into the table; a thud was heard as his forehead met the wooden surface. Vladimir Vladimirovich was true to his words; he would only set him free if he deemed that he was broken beyond repair. For the past eight years, he moulded himself to become a good little mini-me to the man. Sacrificing his ideals, he stayed in power in order to do change which was thwarted again and again. He got an award for his ‘services’ to the motherland. The medal was mockery of his pain; he got it as a treat for being a great pet.

The President was not accountable for everything that happened to their country. When the economy was falling he was happily taking all the blame. The old man was untouchable, he was put on a pedestal and the people worshipped him as a God who cannot do anything wrong. The circus bear happily accepted the stones which were supposed to be for his master.

Why did he hope that he would be influential as a prime minister? During his presidential term, the one they considered as the leader was Vladimir Vladimirovich. The Kremlin announcer made sure that he knew his place when the man accidentally blurted out the Vladimir’s name. Did he not learn that the prime ministerial position becomes obsolete when his friend was in power?

“What was the purpose of continuing as a magical girl when the country that you truly wanted to save refused your help?” a bitter laugh escaped his lips and it resonates around the room, teasing him as his hope crumbled.

The years of hidden sorrow, anger and regret was eating his soul; suffocating him. He sat up straight and willed his soul gem to appear in front of him. It was pitch black. He grasped it tightly and placed it on his pocket, wiped his eyes, stood up and walked out of the meeting room.

Everyone in the White House was rushing around; trying to get a couple of things done before the government comes to an end. They did not pay any attention to him as he aimlessly walked out of the building. He let his feet to lead him to God knows where. The citizens that he passed by were looking at him scornfully, if their eyes gained the intensity of the sun they could have reduced his pathetic form into ashes.

**_“I am the president and do not have the right to give in to emotions. I have bad moods, very bad moods, but I never feel despair.”_ **

He gave a derisive laugh as his quote eight years ago flashed through his mind. If his past self could see him know; he would be terribly disappointed to see that he has succumbed to his despair. Everyone at the street was looking at him as though he has lost his mind. Maybe he did?

**_“My main ambition is to be of use to my country and my people.”_ **

He was sure that he did not fulfil his greatest ambition. How could he? When your hands were tied; you were helpless, useless. He has hoodwinked himself to think that he was making a difference but in reality, his efforts were non-existent. It was amazing that he could even move, the despair was crippling and yet his feet continued to trudge on forward, which lead him from the Krasnoprenskaya embankment to where the presidential administration resided. His soul was urging him to seek out Vladislav Yurevich, he let his body moved on its own accord and went inside.

**_“You did not do such thing! I was the one that’s protecting you from the president. Our relationship is contractual and it ends as soon as I resign.”_ **

He was surprised that his feet lead him to the Presidential Administration as if his very soul was urging him to seek out the man that he tries to avoid not to see him in such a state. Did he not say that their relationship was contractual? If he asked the man to do the inevitable then he won’t feel any remorse, after all, he wasn’t considered as the man’s friend.

The personnel of the building did nothing to stop him as if it was a normal business day, when he got inside the elevator; the mirrors showed that his empty eyes have a deranged glint. His shirt was sticking into his body soaked with his sweat from the long trek. The elevator stopped at the designated floor and he passed by Vyacheslav Viktorivich, who gave him a sneer. The sneer ceases to affect him, he was numb. There’s nothing left to feel.

Vladislav Yurevich’s secretary hurriedly informed her boss that he has a visitor. A warm hand grasped his and the door was closed softly behind them. Warm hands were holding his arms and the door were closed softly behind them. The presidential aide enveloped him into a comforting embrace and led him back to reality.

“I’m sorry if I bothered you.” He whispered and the arms tightened its hold on him as if it wanted to convey that he was not a bother. The Presidential Aide seems to be expecting him, the man settled him in a chair and handed him a cup of tea. His eyes were fixated on the brown liquid and he did not even take a sip of it. He was too lost in his thoughts to do a trivial thing such as drinking tea.

“I did my best to deter Vladimir Vladimirovich from his decision. I apologize that I did not convinced him enough.” He did not saw that the dark brown eyes of the presidential aide were filled with worry and regret and if only he had looked up to meet the gaze, he would have seen that the man who left him seven years ago dearly cares for him.

He released a long sigh of defeat and closed his eyes; he’s not even trying to reign in his despair. It was comforting to no longer hide in a mask of false bravado and joy. His soul seems to disagree. It was screaming at him to not to fall into the abyss of his suppressed emotions, that there’s a consequence to his actions.

**_‘When all hope was lost, would you even try to fight back?’_ **

“You were right. I am delusional when I made that wish thinking I could save everyone. Do I even have the reason to continue to hope? To fight for the future of a country that no longer wants my help? It’s collapsing in front of my eyes and I am powerless to do anything.”

He was trembling and hot liquid spilling out of the cup and the pain in his hand did not stop him from his tirade. Hands slowly ease the cup out of his grip and settled it on the table. Vladislav Yurevich tilted his face to meet his gaze and the tears that he was trying not to shed fell out from his eyes.

“I-I could not even defend you seven years ago. How could I even save my own country if I could not even defend you or my other allies? I’m a fool, Slava.” He buried his face in the man’s shirt and he was sobbing on Surkov’s chest; crying out his frustration, anger and despair.

He pushed the presidential aide away to free himself from the embrace and fished his soul gem out of his pocket; Vladislav Yurevich was taken aback at the state of the man’s soul gem. It was as dark as the night sky and the gem was close to breaking.

“You told me that our relationship was contractual…I want to make a contract.”

“Dmitry Anatolyevich, your soul gem….” Vladislav Yurevich whispered and the man stood up from his seat but his empty gaze stopped Surkov from going to his desk to get the grief seed.

“I did not come here to be saved, Vladislav Yurevich. I accepted my fate for it is the just punishment that I should receive for my sins. Promise me, that you will do whatever it takes to kill my witch form. Prevent it from wreaking havoc and unleashing its curse on the land that he loves. It would be easy for you to kill me….”

Vladislav Yurevich merely lifted the hand that was clutching the broken gem, held it and gave it a light squeeze. The man embraced him again, tightly, as if the embrace could prevent the inevitable.  

“Witch form? You-you are a fool for thinking that I can destroy your soul easily as if I did not care for you for all of those years that I was not at your side. You’ve been so brave for the past years, Dima. It will be alright, I promise” The man murmured, he released the prime minister in his embrace and planted a kiss on his forehead.

His heart did a painful leap as the man that he had loved said his diminutive and gave him what he was longing for. Perhaps, if Slava had done this a long time ago; things would have been different. The man gave him something to hope for when he’s no longer in the threshold of salvation.

“You were right though, I am a fool for thinking that I could save everyone.” The smile on his lips was a self-depreciating one and loud crack was heard as his soul gem disintegrated. A gust of wind separated them from one another and he saw that Vladislav Yurevich was thrown into a wall and his soul gem turn into something darker, a familiar shape. He could feel that his soul was being sucked towards the black portal  
  
“Dimaaaaaaaaaaaaaaa!” he heard someone screaming his name and his memories were slowly blurring out replaced by a terrible desire to maim and destroy. Let them feel his wrath and despair.

**_He wanted to be useful, wasn't it? Whoever gets the grief seed that his witch form produced would benefit from it?_ **

**_Isn’t it ironic that he would lay waste to the country that he was trying to save?_ **

**_It does not matter._ **

**_He would let them feel the anguish that they subjugated him into._ **

**_Ursula von Demetria would give them a performance that they will never forget._ **

****

 


End file.
